Fine Lines
by Fairly Odd New Yorker
Summary: Imogen Drill puts up with a relentless Hecketty Broomhead and an equally stubborn Constance Hardbroom. (takes place during 'Just Like Clockwork') FEMSLASH, SHORT, multi-chapter.
1. Chapter 1

**(A/N)-** Hey everyone! I'm still working on Bruised Not Broken, but with Hurricane Sandy, two funerals (one unrelated to Sandy) and a shitton of coursework that needs to get done because of a week of classes lost, pretty much everything is on the back-burner. This here is an unrelated fic that I typed up real quick and I plan to upload a new chapter every day, the catch is the 'chapter' isn't very long ... I decided to be a tease. ;P Sue me. Enjoy?

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**- Chapter 1 -**

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Imogen Drill was completely on edge since the unexpected arrival of Mistress Hecketty Broomhead. Imogen had previously been sent away from the school for Hecketty's last visit, due to Miss Hardbroom's fears that the school would fail the inspection for employing a non-witch on the teaching staff. She had seen just how shook up her deputy headmistress appeared at the mere mention of her name. She dreaded the day she might eventually meet such a horrible woman, and now, standing before her, she wished that the floor would just swallow her up.

She shot a glance in Constance's direction, and the look went unreturned - her fearful eyes would not leave the former inspector.

"Who might you be?" she snapped as Mr. Hallow left, narrowing her eyes at Imogen and then to Lavinia Crochet, who tried her best to look friendly and inviting in a feeble attempt to keep on her good side, if there was one.

Constance found her voice, and moved to the gym mistress's side, "This is Imogen Drill-"

"She has a voice, hasn't she?" Hecketty barked, eyes wild as she stared down her former student, who backed off immediately, "Why don't you let her speak for herself?"

Imogen forced a smile best she could, extending a hand in greeting, "Imogen Drill, sports mistress."

Hecketty ignored her hand, "Sports mistress?" she asked in disbelief, "And what does that entail?"

"Uhm ..." she dropped her hand awkwardly to her side, forgetting herself for a second, "physical activity ... health and fitness ... sports?"

"Are you asking me or telling me?" she snapped in annoyance, "Do you teach magick as well?"

"No ... I teach sports."

The old witch looked to Constance, "Is this some kind of a joke?"

"OfWitch approved it," Constance explained, wringing her hands nervously, "She is a valued member of staff ..."

Imogen was momentarily touched by her words, but it was short lived.

"Valued or not, if she can't perform magick what use is she to a school for witches?" she gave one last nasty look in Imogen's direction before rounding on Lavinia.

Imogen never felt so insulted in her entire life, and she felt incredibly stupid for feeling this way for it wasn't the first time she was degraded for being who she was ... in fact she'd been reminded of her uselessness on occasion by the same woman who'd defended her just now ...

Fingertips lightly brushed the tiny hairs on her arm, and she looked over just in time to see Constance offer the slightest sympathetic smile before standing beside Lavinia. The look of determination on her face ... like a mother sticking proudly by her misfit children, Imogen mused.

They were safe. As long as Constance was around, everything would be fine.


	2. Chapter 2

**(A/N)-** Thanks for the reviews! :) Here's the next, chapter 3 should be up tomorrow night.

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**- Chapter 2 -**

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"Imogen!" Constance cried out in anxious worry, "You never signed in! How long have you been in here?"

"Not long enough," she muttered under her breath as she lifted her head from her folded arms.

"And sit up straight! What have I told you?"

"Yes, mum."

She was suddenly met by those brown orbs looking incredulously at her.

"Don't sass me, Imogen. You don't know what that woman is capable of ..."

Imogen felt the urge to ask teetering on the tip of her tongue, but the answer seemed to present itself as Constance handed her the sign-in book and the black silk on her arm unintentionally rose up to reveal tiny red lines in her porcelain skin.

Imogen paled at the sight, nearly dropping the book, but Constance had already turned to leave.

"Don't forget to sign out either," she warned, turning in her steps just enough to give her the slightest glare.

"Constance, let me see your arm," Imogen found herself saying in a breath before she could stop herself.

The witch came to a halt, her hand on the doorknob. Her lower lip trembled ever so slightly, and she looked back at the non-witch with feigned indifference.

"Pardon?"

"Your arm," she repeated, rising from her seat to approach the older woman, who flinched away slightly even though the other woman wasn't even within arm's reach yet.

"Leave it," was all she could manage.

"Just let me see," she persisted, fingertips brushing the fabric before she whipped away at her touch.

"_Leave_ it," Constance repeated, eyes wide, and she lowered her voice, "She'll notice."

Imogen was outraged, "_She_ did this?" she asked, and Constance immediately shushed her.

"It's not as bad as you think," she reasoned, jumping away just as the non-witch had caught her off guard long enough to get a slightly better look at her injuries.

"You're _bleeding_, Constance!" she gasped, not believing what she was seeing.

"It's magick," she explained quietly, gripping her wrist to compress the wound, "I'll be fine."

"Let me dress it, at least."

"You can't. She'll notice." Constance dismissed, "Just don't tell anyone. Please."

She'd never seen the witch's eyes like that before, so big and brown and full of worry.

Imogen sighed heavily, shaking her head slightly in disbelief, "We can't go on like this."

She moved past the witch to sign out, and just as she finished writing her name the woman disappeared from the room, and with it her name appeared on the sheet along with the current time.


	3. Chapter 3

**-Chapter 3-**

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"Constance, these marks are abysmal! Haven't I taught you anything?"

Imogen glanced over at the potions mistress who stood with her eyes downcast as she minded her tongue, her fingers subconsciously toying with the end of her sleeve.

"I thought I told you after I'd given my inspection here last year - you need to be on top of everyone. Have you not considered giving each and every girl a full evaluation? I know you have taught them how to do all this, but by the looks of it, it appears they refuse to listen. If they don't want to learn, you have to _make_ them learn!"

Imogen spluttered into her tea, and the two looked over at her. Hecketty cut her a glare but said nothing. Constance just appeared fearful as always, her brows deepening slightly to silently tell the non-witch to keep her comments to herself.

Imogen reluctantly obeyed, putting her tea down on a side-table as she returned to her scoreboard.

"I am trying to get through to them, Mistress Broomhead, but in their defense-"

"_Clearly_ you are not trying-"

"I am, Mistress!" she replied insistently, and a sharp and barely audible cry escaped her lips as the shorter witch's thumbnail stabbed into her wrist.

"Don't you dare argue with me," she growled under her breath but she soon fell silent, feeling the non-witch's eyes upon her.

A sickening smile spread across her thin cracked lips as she cast her cold grey eyes upon the blonde, "Miss Drill," she addressed, "Would you please give us a moment alone?"

Imogen's eyes flickered to Constance, who refused to meet her eyes as she seized the moment to nurture her aching limb, sweeping her thumb over the tender skin with a slight flinch.

"Miss Drill?" Hecketty asked again, motioning to the door.

"No."

Hecketty's fake friendliness vanished instantly, "Excuse me?"

Constance's head snapped up, forgetting all about herself and watching the two, her spell-casting fingers at the ready, trembling as they hung at her sides.

"I'm not leaving." Imogen said decidedly, putting her chalk down and crossing her arms.

"This does not concern you, non-witch. I suggest you leave at once."

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"Imogen, _please_ ..." Constance managed, eyebrows knitted with worry as she looked between the two women, her gaze finally falling on the non-witch. Locking eyes with her, she silently pleaded with her to go, but still Imogen refused to move, shaking her head slightly.

"I'm sorry Constance, but I'm not leaving you alone with her."

It all happened so quickly.

A sudden burst of blue light was shot at the non-witch, but it never got to her. Instead, another spell, a burst of red, shot at the other spell and caused it to dispel into thin air.

Hecketty Broomhead was more furious than ever, her veins seemed to pop out of her skin as she whipped around to look at Constance with wild eyes.

"Imogen, get _out_ of here!" Constance shouted, almost as infuriated as her former tutor was.

Imogen practically ran from the room, tears stinging her eyes as she rushed off down the hallway to the lavatory, heart hammering in her chest.


	4. Chapter 4

**(A/N)**- Thanks so much guys for reviewing! It means the world to me!

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**-Chapter 4-**

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"I told her you wouldn't report her ... what happened ..."

Imogen looked up from her sneakers as she finished tying her laces, "She tried to kill me," she responded calmly, "Why shouldn't I report her?"

"It wasn't a _lethal_ spell," Constance sighed, "It was a memory erasing spell. She was under the impression that you saw ... well, _you know_ ..." her hand instinctively cradled her arm protectively as she raised a brow at the blonde, "And you _did_, to a degree ... she knows her reputation is on the line. She felt threatened."

"Well then she shouldn't have mutilated you to begin with, huh?"

Constance avoided her gaze, glancing out of the sports shed doors.

"I think I've convinced her to disregard it ... I explained that you're just a non-witch whose word holds no real value in the magickal world."

"Thanks." Imogen muttered.

"I don't mean it," she insisted, looking back to her, meeting her green eyes, "I know it must seem like I do sometimes ..."

Imogen smiled vaguely, watching as the witch gently caressed the length of her arm, the same one she'd seen flecked with cuts just the day before.

"She hurt you again, didn't she?" Imogen asked quietly, hugging her knees, "Because of me ..."

The corner of Constance's lips lifted slightly in a faint smile, "Small price to pay for keeping your memory intact. Spells like that have been known to cause some serious problems for non-witches ... you could've forgotten everything about this place, who knows ..."

Imogen laughed humorlessly, "Even magick couldn't make me forget you ..." the words seemed to just spill out, and she regretted them almost instantly, her gaze falling to the floor and she refused to meet her eyes.

Awkward silence fell between them, and Imogen stood with a deep breath.

"Well, gotta go teach some second years," she announced quietly with forced enthusiasm.

She crossed the room and warm slender fingers gently enclosed around her wrist as she passed the witch, causing her to stop abruptly in her tracks and look up questioningly. They were so close that if she leaned in just a bit more they could ... but she pushed the thought from her mind as Constance spoke.

"I'll fix this," she said quietly, gently squeezing her in a feeble attempt to comfort her, "I promise."

The witch's eyes were glassy with tears, and she couldn't help the small tremble that shook her entire frame. She was so scared yet so determined as she spoke those words ... her heart swelled and ached as she thought about the horrible things that woman had to endure to keep her safe, to keep them _all_ safe ...

She couldn't help it. She found herself leaning up on her tiptoes and brushing her lips against the soft skin of her cheek. Constance flinched slightly as if she'd been pinched and she pulled away slightly, but a moment too late. The teary eyes were still there, but her steely gaze was replaced with a look of pure shock, lips trembling before she pursed them shut.

Despite it all, her fingers were still hooked around the younger woman's wrist.

"Stay safe," Imogen whispered with a grim smile, walking away from her grasp and into the courtyard.

She felt suddenly light on her feet, too much in a daze from what she'd just done ... what she'd just gotten away with.

But the feeling was short-lived.

Mistress Hecketty Broomhead was standing just outside the school walls.

Her heart plummeted into her stomach, worried that the horrid old witch had seen what had just happened ...

"Miss Drill, you're late for your class," she reminded in a sharp tone, "As useless a subject it may be, you are still unfortunately employed here at this academy and are required to meet a certain level of standards."

"Yes, Mistress Broomhead," she agreed in a monotone, a wave of relief flowing throughout her body. She tried not to think about Constance for fear Hecketty could read her thoughts, but all she could think of were those sad brown eyes and that soft, gentle touch that still lingered around her wrist ...

Just as she pushed the thoughts from her head to focus on her class for the day, the witch of her dreams emerged from the castle doors. She must've reappeared inside the school so that Hecketty wouldn't catch her coming out of the sports shed and questioning what exactly she'd been doing in there.

She appeared stone-faced as she notified the substitute headmistress of a letter from OfWitch, careful to avoid her gaze from drifting to the sports mistress.

Miss Drill in turn respectfully averted her eyes from the woman she'd just kissed and shouted for the girls to get up off the wall and start their warm-up exercises.

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**(A/N)**- Hope it wasn't too OOC. Reviews please! Next chapter will possibly be the last.


	5. Chapter 5

**(A/N)-** Not my greatest but I've had a rough week and I'd list out the excuses but there's no point. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, should be one more chapter after this.

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**- Chapter 5 -**

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Imogen was alone in the staffroom one morning, pouring herself some tea when it happened ...

Every fiber of her being felt like ice. She tried to move, but as soon as she did, her body tensed and stayed incredibly still. Her teacup fell from her grasp and shattered on the hardwood floor.

A low amused laugh came from behind her as the substitute headmistress circled her, stopping to stand in front of the non-witch with a satisfied grin.

"OfWitch said your position here has been approved, but I know better. You're nothing but scum of the earth, and you deserve no better than a maintenance job in this establishment just like the rest of the non-magickal wastes." she spat, referring to Frank and Miss Tapioca.

Imogen's lips were firmly closed, bound by the spell. The only thing she could do was glare at her, and it had no effect whatsoever.

"The next time you defy me will be the _last_, make no mistake of that!" she hissed into her ear, teeth bared, and she snapped her fingers as she strode from the room, causing the spell to break.

Imogen lost her balance and stumbled into a chair, gripping the back of it fiercely.

"Imogen?" a voice inquired, and she looked over to see Constance in the doorway.

The witch turned to look down the hallway until Broomhead was out of sight, and she shut the door firmly behind her, eyebrows knitted with worry as she eyed her colleague.

"What's she done?" she asked urgently but quietly, "Are you hurt?"

Pale fingers touched her shoulders gently, and she shrugged them off, casting a glare at the confused witch.

"I'm fine." Imogen muttered under her breath, mentally reminding herself that although she felt Constance was to blame for not contacting Amelia, this wasn't her fault. Imogen was the one who foolishly stood up to that vile woman the day before.

She sat down with a sigh at the staffroom table, running a hand through her short blonde hair. Her destroyed mug crunched noisily under her sneakers.

The familiar whir of magick met her ears and she involuntarily tensed, shutting her eyes a moment. She opened them to see her mug on the table, good as new.

Fingers returned to her shoulder and she jumped at the touch.

"What did she do to you?" Constance demanded under her breath.

"I could ask you the same thing."

The witch's burgundy lips pursed, and she averted her gaze as her face flushed slightly.

Imogen sat back in her chair, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she looked despairingly at the stoic witch, who avoided her eyes with great determination.

She found herself looking to her pale hands, biting back the urge to take one in hers ... but it didn't last long. Her shaking hand gently brushed the other woman's knuckles, but as soon as she made contact, it had been whipped from her grasp.

"Don't." Constance warned, eyes livid, and Imogen realized in that moment what she might've assumed.

"I wasn't ... I just ..." tears formed in her eyes but she blinked them away, getting to her feet, "Never mind," she muttered as she left the room.

She couldn't believe she wanted to hold her hand, to comfort her ... she'd almost forgotten about the cuts on her arm ... she just wanted to hold her, somehow, without coming across like some ... _pervert_, for lack of a better word.

She was grateful that Constance appeared to have forgotten she'd kissed her.

Imogen hoped that someday she could, too.


	6. Chapter 6

**(A/N)**- LAST CHAPTER! I apologize for the delay - final projects, exams, essays, not to mention getting ill and feeling near death yesterday ... it kinda delays things. I'm much better now, just some food poisoning, but now I'm very scared of food and I'm eating even smaller portions than before. Fun! Anyways, hope you all had a pleasant holiday! Wish I'd gotten this up sooner, but ... think of it as a last minute pressie. Enjoy! And thank you so much everyone who reviewed! Words can't express how much it means to me.

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**- Chapter 6 -**

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Imogen couldn't sleep the following night, and she expected she would since Miss Cackle had returned and sent Broomhead packing ... she suspected Constance was behind it all. She must've taken her advice about calling Amelia and pleading her to return ... but ever since Amelia came back, she'd been avoiding Imogen. In fact, she hadn't left her headmistress's side.

The non-witch tried to convince herself that Constance must've been too stressed in Hecketty's wake and probably missed Amelia more than she'd ever dare to mention, but ... still, Imogen was hurt.

She didn't give her so much as a sideways glance.

Imogen sighed, putting her hands behind her head as she stared up at the ceiling. Constance's behavior was to be expected. She was, after all, Imogen's superior.

Still, it pained her as she recalled how the woman attempted to comfort her, how she'd actually shown concern for her ... returning the favor, Imogen supposed. But Constance was never like that before ... deep down, she wished Hecketty would return if only so that she would see the kinder side of the formidable deputy headmistress.

A soft knock resounded at her door, so quiet that she thought she imagined it. She sat up on her elbows and looked towards the door, and a few seconds later several louder knocks echoed throughout the room, and she threw her covers aside, not bothering to grab her slippers. She assumed it was one of the girls, more often than not she'd have a student turn up at her door complaining about not being able to sleep on account of nightmares, noises, etc.

So she was incredibly surprised to open her door to find Constance Hardbroom, hair unbound and disheveled, purple silk covered arms pulled tightly against her middle as she stared, brown eyes big and round, her eyebrows creased slightly in a sort of sadness.

"Sorry to bother you," she managed in a hoarse whisper, "Can I come in?"

Dumbstruck, all Imogen could do was nod, stepping aside to let the witch in.

As soon as the door closed, words came pouring out of the sports mistress's mouth.

"I'm so sorry I pushed you away the other day, it's just been so stressful with that awful woman here and-"

She was cut off as Constance, shaking, showed her the underside of her spindly pale arm, tinged red and flecked with fine lines of red and pink. More horrifying than that, several of the cuts were bleeding fresh.

Her eyes were glassed over as she choked out, "I ... I can't ..."

"Go sit down," Imogen ordered gently, fingers ghosting her elbows briefly as she showed her to the twin bed, for her desk chair was piled up with books, papers, and sweat jackets. Constance was in such a state that she didn't bother to argue with her, nor did she scold the woman for keeping her bedroom in such poor shape. Her gaze was blank, and she stared into nothing as she perched precariously at the end of the bed.

The blonde disappeared into the small bathroom and soon emerged with a damp towel and a first aid kit.

"It won't do any good -" Constance protested, pulling her injured arm away when the non-witch made to reach for her.

"Just let me clean it."

"It won't -"

"Constance, please, I'm not a witch, just let me help in the only way that I can. Please?"

Eyes glassed over, the witch eventually relented, trembling as she brought forth her arm from the folds of her silk robe. Imogen took hold of her as carefully as she could, her fingertips cradling the underside of her arm as she gently compressed the wound. A hiss escaped through gritted teeth and she met eyes with the witch.

"You didn't tell Amelia, did you?"

The witch's brows creased from a wince into a look of guilt, and Imogen shook her head in dismay, looking back to her arm as she turned a clean bit of towel over against the cuts.

"She ought to be locked up for this. I mean, it's beyond unacceptable, it's ... beyond words. What if she harms one of the girls?"

"She won't." Constance replied with such certainty that Imogen looked up at her in disbelief, "Not as long as I'm around," the witch explained with a grim smile.

She pulled her eyes away quickly, taking the warm towel off of her pale skin to check her progress, "Seems to have stopped."

"For now," Constance muttered.

Imogen slipped her hands away and dove into her first aid kit.

"What are you doing now?"

"Dressing them."

"What's the point in that?" she spat in annoyance, "It will only bleed through. What a waste of bandages ..."

"You voluntarily came to my room, what did you _expect_ would happen?"

Imogen blushed as dirty thoughts entered her mind after that sentence, and she was glad she wasn't facing the witch, though she could feel her ears burning up.

The two did not exchange any more words as Imogen did her best, finishing it by wrapping bandage wrap snugly against her arm, cocooning it. She made sure not to wrap it into a sort of cast so as to not allow the students to see it wrapped on the palm of her hand, despite how much easier it would've been to keep the bandages on.

Once she finished, her eyes instinctively flew to the other arm, and without thinking, she reached for it, only to have it whipped away from her without a word.

"Let me see,"

"There's nothing there," Constance insisted.

"Just let me have a look?" Imogen gazed up at her pleadingly, and Constance rolled her eyes and held out her left arm.

Imogen rolled up her sleeve to reveal her bare arm, white as snow in the moonlight and free of any fresh cuts.

Imogen dared and found herself running her fingers gently along her arm, tracing the faint white scars one could barely see unless they looked hard enough.

"She's hurt you before."

"Yes." Constance said matter-of-factly.

"Why didn't you say something?"

Constance wouldn't answer. After a long pregnant pause, Imogen sat up, tears clouding her eyes as she looked to see the witch had turned her face away towards the window, a curtain of ebony hair hiding her eyes from the non-witch's gaze.

Her fingers found the older woman's hand and she slowly brushed her thumb across her knuckles, the simple touch causing the witch to exhale gently. Slowly, Imogen was allowed to lay her hand in hers and, once comfortably placed, she gave it a small reassuring squeeze.

Imogen shifted closer to her so that their legs touched. She could feel her tense slightly at this but she soon relaxed, but she still would not look at her.

Imogen's free hand reached up to run through her raven locks and gently tuck it behind her ear. Now exposed, Imogen could see that Constance had been silently crying. Ashamed, the witch turned to look at her, only to see evidence that several tears had trailed down the non-witch's face as well.

Constance cupped her cheek, brushing away a fresh tear with her thumb before leaning in to kiss her fully on the mouth. She trembled, breathing shakily as Imogen did not immediately return to kiss, and in fear she went to pull away but Imogen quickly pressed into her, taking her breath away in a passionate kiss.

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A while later, Imogen found herself lying in bed with a sleeping Constance wrapped up in her arms and blankets. Neither had planned nor suggested this, but like all that has happened between them lately, it just _happened_. She absentmindedly stroked her hair gently as she stared up at the ceiling, not quite believing that she'd stared up at the exact ceiling moments earlier in a state of doubt that Constance even _liked_ her.

It all happened so quickly ... she was sure that the witch would regret it by morning, but for now, she just wanted to remember every second of the time they had together.

She pressed a kiss atop her head and soon joined her in sleep.


End file.
